Aleksei had originally set out to track elk passing through Kingsfall. He had decided it would be good to know their routes, to know when they would travel back to the tundra, because May was not far from arriving in the Lore, and there would be newborn calves wobbling around, vulnerable and ripe for the picking. With the possibility of more pups than they could handle—theirs was a small gathering of wolves, after all—it wouldn't be a bad shout for Hearthwood River to be prepared ahead of time.

After more than a day's worth of walking, and having lost time thanks to his sleeping, Aleksei was further from home than he intended to be, chasing some foreign river's current before it opened up into a roaring serpent. He was awestruck, dazzled even; the water of Kingsfall never ran this vicious, nor did Cut Rock's. It was powerful, judging from the way it audibly slapped waves against its rocky walls, and ran a deep, inky blue—definitely not the kind of place you'd want to take a casual dip.

It reminded him of a name he had heard, long ago. It was nestled on the tip of his tongue, refusing to budge. Blackwater? No, no, that wasn't it. Perhaps Darkwater? That sounded right. Darkwater, Darkwater …

“Darkwater Rapids,” he thought aloud, unaware of the presence of someone who knew that name far better than he did; someone who had lived here. Yes, he remembered. Somewhat. His father had told him of this place a few times, and the way Maksim described it had always captivated Aleksei, caused his eyes to widened and his breath to catch in his lungs. Roaring, spitting water, carving through rock and dirt, snaking through the forest with unstoppable force. Nature could be scary.

He pressed on, curious to poke around a little more. Wolves lived here once—his own father included—but were chased off by a flood. The river that had sustained them for so long had grown tired of being seen, wanted to return to obscurity, and swelled with the rain to wash the Darkwater residents away. His father had led much of the pack to safety. His father, from the misery of disaster, brought great joy in the form of Cut Rock River.

Maksim Baranski had always been fond of water, and so it seemed his son was too.

Oblivious to the presence of another, Aleksei took a moment to be a bit bold—or simply stupid—and craned his neck so that he could really look into the dark rapids, feeling droplets that leaped for the sky speckle his cheeks and muzzle. God, he couldn't even see the bottom! It could go on for miles beneath the surface, and that thought alone was enough to make him reel his neck in and take a step back with a nervous, quiet chuckle. “Jeez.” Sure, he loved water, but he also respected the dangers it brought when it was deep and unpredictable.

So caught up in inspecting the river (now at a safer distance because fuck falling into that), it came as a great surprise when a wolf's voice rose above the rapids to question him. Aleksei immediately whirled around, caught off guard, and the hairs on the back of his neck bristled instinctively. It was his natural response, and his eyes narrowed in suspicion. Askan had given a brief description of the wolf that had attacked Percy—dark, and a loner—and here was a wolf with black fur, one who appeared from nowhere, lacking any pack scent, in a sheltered, hidden place like this. First impressions were tense, to say the least.

He remained quiet for a moment, brows furrowed, before speaking up in response to the question. “Darkwater Rapids,” he repeated, no longer a mumble on his lips. “Why? What does it matter to you?” Aleksei's muscles were tense beneath his fur; it was his back against the churning waters, and that hardly made him feel safe. Falling into that strong a current would most likely spell a wolf's demise, and the Hearthwood male wasn't keen on being its most recent victim.

Aleksei tried to force his hackles down, he really did, but he found himself unable to do so. There were a lot of contributing factors to the prickly atmosphere, and they were mostly questions. Like, what kind of jackass startled someone currently staring into potentially bottomless hell water? And what the hell did “matters more to me than anyone else” mean? Perhaps the most important by far was the question who the hell is this guy?

Wouldn't take long for Aleksei to get the answer he wanted more than any other, and he could only tilt his head in response, jaw hanging slightly slack and his brows knitted. “What?” He might have looked a bit simple, but the cogs in his head were whirring. An heir to Darkwater Rapids? That didn't make a lick of sense, and the way this Rowan said the word made it seem like he was unhappy about it. I mean, sure, this place smelt like wet mud and it was kind of lonely, but it was an impressive sight, and part of his family's history—did it really deserve to be called a dump? He couldn't claim to know much, if anything, about the pack his father had been a part of because Maksim only brought it up a handful of times (Aleksei chalked it up to a melancholic brand of nostalgia), but it hadn't ever seemed like there were bad memories here.

Just, you know, the simple things you couldn't prevent. Like life threatening freak weather!

Eyes trained on each other, Aleksei couldn't help but feel a little uncomfortable with the meeting. What were the chances he'd run into an Attaya? “Right,” he said finally, clearing his throat and shaking the rather gormless expression from his face. “Okay. I'm Aleksei Baranski. My father told me about this place.” Would Rowan recognise that name? Would it mean anything? Maksim had brought up the name Attaya a few times to Aleksei before, and he had a few foggy memories of wolves in Cut Rock River with that name, but he had been much younger back then, and it was a struggle to remember the specific names.

The sudden switch in the Attaya's face caused Aleksei to visibly relax—it seemed that Rowan recognised the name of his parent's former friend and guardian. It was an incredible coincidence that the two should meet here, and the Baranski found it a little unsettling now that he really thought about it. Meetings such as this were unexplained, and uncomfortably mysterious, but perhaps that was putting too much stock in the concept of fate—more than it deserved, any way. Aleksei had never been a big believer in such a thing (the idea of every wolf having a path they would follow in life was bonkers), and after learning what had happened to Karina in his absence … well, he decided it would be best that he only believe in himself, and the tangible reality around him.

Still, it was a little concerning—or just confusing—that Rowan was able to immediately peg Aleksei as the first born heir to the Baranski's river territory. He could have been the second born son for all the Attaya knew. “Yeah,” he confirmed, regardless, “that's right. Good guess.”

He struggled to hold back a frown as the older wolf spoke of his history with Maksim, how he had known him, how his family had known him, and could only nod. Aleksei felt his mouth grow dry, and he cleared his throat in the hope that maybe he'd be able to get some saliva to wet his tongue instead of croaking out a reply. Thankfully, he got his way. “And then to Hearthwood River after that. He told me once or twice about Darkwater Rapids—he'd never get into too much detail, though. I think it made him sad, to think about you and your family.” Opting to remain silent for the moment about his father's passing (there wasn't any need to bring it up, not unless Rowan asked after the male), the Baranski conjured up a weak smile, unsure of what else he could say. He decided that he'd best change he subject, save them from an uncomfortable discussion. “What brings you back to your birthplace?”